


don't you dream impossible things?

by himbodad



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - High School, F/F, F/M, M/M, Mutual Pining, Nonbinary Character, Pining, Trans Female Character, Trans Male Character, there's multiple trans characters so i'm not tagging each one with their name
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:33:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25515811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/himbodad/pseuds/himbodad
Summary: Jonah Magnus High School is a fairly small institution, being located in the middle of nowhere and having a reputation for the unnatural. Nearly every principal the school had from the time it opened to now eventually went missing or died mysteriously. Many students reported ‘monster’ sightings or similarly sinister instances. Overall, it seemed like the perfect place for Jon to attend, when given the choice between JMHS and Allan Usher High.
Relationships: Basira Hussain/Alice "Daisy" Tonner, Elias Bouchard/Peter Lukas, Georgie Barker/Melanie King, Gerard Keay/Michael Shelley, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Sasha James/Tim Stoker
Comments: 9
Kudos: 76





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> welcome to my first ever tma fic! i hope you enjoy this first chapter as much as i enjoyed writing it
> 
> title comes from Starlight by Taylor Swift, in honor of my childhood self

Jonah Magnus High School is a fairly small institution, being located in the middle of nowhere and having a reputation for the unnatural. Nearly every principal the school had from the time it opened to now eventually went missing or died mysteriously. Many students reported ‘monster’ sightings or similarly sinister instances. Overall, it seemed like the perfect place for Jon to attend, when given the choice between JMHS and Allan Usher High. 

Being a small school does mean that he’ll be forced to socialize with more people than he’s comfortable with. At his old school, the one he attended before he and his grandmother moved, Jon relied on the large crowds and class sizes to be able to blend into the background. Here? That would be impossible.

Classes would be his saving grace. Jon’s favorite course throughout all of his schooling has always been history. Didn’t matter which country or time period. He found it interesting to gather more and more knowledge, and the way that history told a tale appealed to him. Besides, those who ignore history are doomed to repeat it, and Jon didn’t wish to be foolish enough to do so. 

The first day of his senior year had dawned, and Jon was more scared than he was willing to admit. He said his goodbyes to his grandmother in the morning as if nothing was wrong before getting in his worn down car and making the journey towards the school. Jon didn’t bother to turn on the stereo, instead driving in complete silence. His mind raced. By the time that he pulled into the parking lot, Jon was practically hyperventilating.

He’d visited the campus previously to pick up his textbooks and the like, although there’d been few other students there that day and he was unable to peruse the intricacies of the school. He did, however, know where his locker was. After stopping in the front office to pick up his schedule, he headed to it, hoping to drop off the many books that were currently weighing down his bag.

His locker was wedged in a corner next to what appeared to be the art classroom. Jon fiddled with the lock until it popped open, revealing a few empty shelves and a spiderweb. Now a spiderweb alone, he would’ve been able to manage. The spider currently sitting atop it is a different story. He stands there, staring at it blankly, unable to move or do anything to remedy the situation.

“Everything okay?” A cheery voice asks. Jon turns his head to see a boy about his age. Tall, fairly muscular, with short dark hair and a shirt so obnoxious he can’t stand to look at it. “Oh, spiders, is it? Nasty little things. Don’t worry, I can get it.”

The boy digs around in his backpack until he finds a loose napkin. He reaches into Jon’s locker and squishes the spider, making sure to grab both it and the web with the cloth before tossing it in a nearby bin.

“I- thank you.” Jon manages. His voice is quiet, only barely audible, and he berates himself mentally. It was only this morning that his grandmother was encouraging him to make friends. Here he is with the perfect opportunity to do so, and he doesn’t even have it in him to speak.

“I’m Tim, by the way. I’ve never seen you ‘round here.” Tim holds up his hand, and Jon reluctantly high fives him. It takes everything in Jon to not reach for the hand sanitizer in his bag. Tim had just touched a spider, for heaven’s sake! Who cared if there’d been a napkin in between him and the foul beast?

“I’ve just moved here recently. Jonathan Sims.” 

“Ah, I think my mum was telling me about you! She said your gran came by a few days ago and they got to talking.” Jon gives him a look of confusion, and Tim continues. “My mum owns the Korean restaurant at the corner of Bram and Ledsam.”

Jon vaguely remembers eating some tteokbokki a few days after moving here, but his grandmother had mentioned no conversation with the owner. Certainly not a conversation wherein she was detailing the name of her young grandson. 

He takes the uncomfortable silence as an opportunity to start stacking his textbooks away in his locker, save for the few that he’ll need for his morning courses. Jon had thoroughly examined the schedule, although not knowing any of the instructors meant he had no real knowledge of if it was particularly good or bad. 

“Advanced Physics, huh?” Tim comments, pointing to the largest of the many textbooks. “My friend Sasha’s taking that, I think. Wonder if we’ve got any classes together…” Based on Tim’s inflection, Jon assumes he’s asking to see his schedule. He hands it over wordlessly, adjusting the copy of Bulfinch’s Mythology that was resting atop his Physics book. (The Bulfinch is there as personal reading, not for any class). 

Jon had memorized the schedule soon after he’d received it. He focused in on all of Tim’s reactions, searching for any information on the teacher’s he’d be forced to spend the year with.

SIMS, JONATHAN C  
Advanced English with RICHARDSON, HELEN  
Advanced Mathematics with LUKAS, PETER  
Gym with HOPWORTH, JARED  
Lunch A  
Advanced French with MONTAGUE, AGNES  
Advanced Physics with DOMINGUEZ, MANUELA  
Advanced History with ROBINSON, GERTRUDE  
Library Sciences with DELANO, ERIC

“Anyone I should be worried about?” Jon asks. He’s only half joking. Tim seems to take it as entirely humor.

“Eh, not really. The only one I’d be scared of is-” The bell rings, and Jon nearly jumps out of his skin. “Shit. Well, c’mon. I’m in Richardson’s first period too, I’ll show you the way.”

Jon reluctantly shuts his locker and continues on behind Tim. The halls of JMHS are far from packed. In fact, Jon barely sees twenty people before he and Tim have arrived at room 247.

“Is that a second door?”

“I wouldn’t go through that one if I were you.” Tim responds, gesturing to the pale white door Jon’s speaking of. “I’d say there’s a… I dunno, fifty percent chance that if you go through there, you don’t end up in Mrs. Richardson’s class.”

He decides to not ask about that, instead using the normal door. 

The interior of the classroom is just as odd as the exterior. Each wall is plastered over with paper decorated in eye-punishing colors and patterns. Every single overhead light is off, and the room is only illuminated by a single lamp at the front of the class. The tables aren’t organized in any sense of the word. Instead, desks are strung together in a set of intricate spirals. Jon can barely imagine how difficult it must be to walk through them, but Mrs. Richardson is doing so with ease.

She too is a unique sight. Long red curls that bounce every which way as she steps. Various chunky necklaces cluttering her chest. A knee length dress that looks silver one moment and is gold the next. Completing the ensemble is a pair of thigh high boots that make her nearly a foot taller. 

There’s no seating chart placed anywhere in the room, and Mrs. Richardson makes no comment on it. Ah, the dreaded concept of choosing your own seat. Jon’s found himself stuck in this conundrum many times, although usually he’s at least known who to avoid. He’s completely out of his depth here. Jon tries his best to resist hyperventilating. 

He’s saved from this mental breakdown by Tim, who’s waving him over. Tim’s already deeply engrossed with the girl besides him. Jon sits down silently in the hopes of not interrupting their conversation.

“Sasha!” Tim whines.

“Tim!” The girl mimics. “Calm down, it's been three days since we last saw each other.”

“Yeah, and that’s three days too many! Seriously, I got so lonely I started up a conversation with Danny about that urban exploring nonsense.” 

“S’not like I’m your only friend.”

“Everyone else was busy too!” Tim protests, rattling off a list of names. “Martin, Melanie, Basira, Daisy-”

“Alright, I get it, you were lonely. I just don’t get how that’s my fault.” Sasha leans in close, her glasses threatening to fall off. “Besides, I’m sure Not Sasha would’ve been free.”

Tim gags. 

“Uh, hello. My name’s Jonathan Sims.” Jon offers. He feels a bit awkward jumping in on a discussion he wasn’t a part of, but there didn’t appear to be a better time to speak. Tim and Sasha don’t seem to mind. 

“Oh, sorry!” Sasha extends a hand that he shakes gently. “Sasha James. Pleasure to meet you.”

“The feeling is mutual. Not to intrude on the conversation, but may I ask who exactly this… Not Sasha is?”

She laughs, a boisterous and hearty thing that warms Jon’s heart, as much as he tries to suppress the feeling. It’s been too long since he heard some express such joy. “She’s right over there. The girl who looks like me, but not?”

Sure enough, Jon spots a girl across the classroom who looks surprisingly similar to his new acquaintance. The same wire rimmed glasses and dark curly hair, same skin tone, even a similar way of dressing. Still, there’s something about her that isn’t right. He feels like if he looked at her for long enough, he’d start to think that was the real Sasha.

“Here’s the kicker, Jon. Her name’s Sasha too. Only, we can’t remember her name being Sasha before our lovely Sasha James here moved into town. Even weirder? I can’t think of what she was called before.”

Sasha gives Tim a look. “Honestly, I’m surprised you left out your favorite part.” She teases.

“I was getting to that!” Tim protests. He slams his hands down on his desk with such force that Jon almost jumps. “Not Sasha’s boyfriend is named… Tom! One letter away from my name. One!”

Ah. Tim and Sasha are dating. That explains the way he’s looking at her, like there’s no one else in the world. Jon catalogues that away in his mind. He likes to know things about people. It gives him a sense of control that the rest of the world often lacks. 

From the front of the room (only distinguishable from the rest of the class by the fact that the overhead projector is pointed in that direction), Mrs. Richardson claps her hands. Her fingers look too long, even for being as tall as she is. They’re only accentuated by the multicolored acrylic nails that adorn them. 

“Good morning! Welcome to Advanced English 12. Please, call me Helen.” Her smile is almost off putting. “If you’ll allow me a moment to pull up my syllabus”

She types away at her computer, first accidentally opening a presentation titled CONSPIRACY: ELIAS NERFED GERTRUDE.

“Oops!” Helen exclaims. The next tab is no better, unless her syllabus is secretly a heavily edited image of herself standing on the top of a building with party streamers tangled around every one of her limbs. “Here we go!”

Most people would argue that a syllabus being expressed via PowerPoint is most effective when your students are able to read the words being shown to them. Clearly, Helen does not agree with that assessment. The slide currently being projected onto the screen is unreadable and is nearly enough to give you a headache if you look at it for more than a second. If he concentrates, Jon can just barely make out what appears to be the letter W halfway down the page, although he isn’t sure about the validity of that assumption. 

“Projects will be 28 percent of your grade. Of course, I might change my mind on that later! We’ll have to see, I suppose.” Helen winks. “Okay, class rules. If you need to use the restroom, don’t. I don’t know where my hall pass is and I’m not going to find out. Extra pencils are in the back of the room… good luck finding where that is. Oh, this is important! If I’m not here, then my TA is your leader.”

She gestures to a completely empty desk in the corner of the room. The only thing decorating it is a single sticky note. Not only that, but the desk is so incredibly small that it seems unlikely anyone could fit in it. 

“Mrs. Richardson-” A student begins to ask.

“Helen.”

“Right. Um, Helen, there’s no one there.” 

Helen turns to face the vacant desk. She frowns, a comical sort that one might see on the visage of a cartoon character.

“Michael, dear, would you come out now?” She calls. Her voice is barely above the volume it was at a moment before, but there’s a twinge of power behind it that makes Tim shudder. 

The door (the one that Jon had been informed didn’t always take you where you intended) swings open to reveal a thin young man with long blond hair and a sheepish expression. His clothing is on par with Helen’s, although the mostly rainbow ensemble is disrupted by a black trench coat. The boy’s voice by no means matches his appearance. It’s far too soft, nearly musical in nature and oddly reserved. 

“My apologies, Helen. I was making copies.” Michael starts handing out pieces of paper to each and every student. Jon looks down at his own, confused by what he finds. A single line of poetry. To add insult to injury, it’s Keats.

_The only means of strengthening one's intellect is to make up one's mind about nothing -- to let the mind be a thoroughfare for all thoughts. ___

__“Frankenstein?” He hears Tim murmur._ _

__His paper reads _"The sweetness was turned to adamantine, heartless cruelty, and the purity to voluptuous wantonness." _____

____“Dracula, actually.” Jon says. At Tim’s confusion, he clarifies. “I read a lot as a child.”_ _ _ _

____Tim resists the urge to ask why the hell reading a lot as a child would correlate to remembering one specific line of the novel._ _ _ _

____Every person in the room has a different quote inscribed upon their paper. There’s no rhyme or reason to them._ _ _ _

____“Perfect! As you all see, you’ve just received your first assignment.”_ _ _ _

____No one bothers to ask her what she means by that. The papers are blank other than the quote, and given her behavior so far, she’s most certainly not going to explain herself. Her TA, Michael, moves smoothly up towards the front of the room. (Only with this does Jon realize that Michael’s wearing Heelys). He’s making himself remarkably small for a teen boy who’s over six feet tall and clad in eye-catching clothing._ _ _ _

____Michael laughs. It’s unsettling in a way that Jon can’t put a finger on. The blond goes to Helen’s computer and changes the slide. This one is slightly more readable, lavender font over a pale green background. Written upon it is a detailed set of instructions for a poster, upon which they’ll be analyzing the quotes they’ve been given and how they relate to a major life event the chosen student has endured. Overall, it seems wildly invasive and makes very little sense as a project for a group of people who’re less than a year away from being adults. Jon is somewhat excited by it nonetheless._ _ _ _

____Helen has taken to chatting away with Michael, who doesn’t appear to be contributing much in return. His hands are shoved in the pockets of his jacket, foot tapping away as he nods, hair swishing. Neither of them appear to have any qualms about the fact that they’re ignoring the rest of the class entirely._ _ _ _

____“Is this how classes here work?” Jon asks his newfound companions. “Five minutes of communication before being thrown to the proverbial wolves?”_ _ _ _

____“Not really. From what I’ve heard, that’s just what Helen’s like. Just popping in and out when she feels like it.” Sasha answers. She gestures towards the teacher, still deeply engrossed in conversation. “Although, I s’pose we’ve got a few teachers like that, right Tim? Tim?”_ _ _ _

____“Huh?” Tim’s head snaps up from where it was resting on his desk. “Sorry, Sash, Jon, what were we talking about?”_ _ _ _

____“Do we have other profs like Helen? Y’know… hands-off teaching methods?”_ _ _ _

____“‘Course we do! Christ, there’s… well shit, now I’m drawing a blank. I’ll get back to you ‘bout that.” His head falls down again. Sasha rolls her eyes._ _ _ _

____“That boy needs to get some rest. D’you know he slept two hours last night, just because his little brother was nervous about starting his freshman year? And he claims that he and Danny don’t get along.” Sasha stage whispers. Jon can’t imagine what it’s like to have a sibling. It’s only ever been him and his grandmother and an ancient cat named Patch._ _ _ _

____Tim flips his girlfriend off and grumbles a response without lifting his head. “We don’t get along.”_ _ _ _

____“Sure.” Her tone makes it evident she doesn’t believe him. “Remind me again, Tim, how our first date ended?”_ _ _ _

____“Listen, my mum and dad _made _me pick Danny up! I wouldn't've gone if not.”___ _ _ _

______“Right, your parents made you… so I’m guessing they made you grab ice cream just for him on the way too? Certainly that wasn’t your decision.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“He was having a rough day!” Tim exclaims. “What kind of brother would I be if I didn’t at least try and cheer him up?”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Sasha looks at Jon, a knowing gleam in her eyes. Jon is starting to catch on to the fact that this is a recurring argument. He feels even more uncomfortable than he did before, like he’s interrupting something that should be left alone. Sure, Tim invited him over here, and Sasha has no complaints on the matter. Still, he feels awkward about it, like he’s somehow ruining their day._ _ _ _ _ _

______Jon pulls his phone out of his pocket. He doubts that Helen has a strict electronics policy, given the piles of evidence of her lax teaching approach. There’s nothing for him to do on his phone, of course, but it disconnects him from the lighthearted bickering the happy couple beside him is engaging in. Jon has three numbers in his phone. His grandmother, a childhood friend he hasn’t seen in years, and the local Thai restaurant. Well, he supposes, not local anymore. He deletes that one, a solemn wave of sudden grief hitting him._ _ _ _ _ _

______He decides to repress that feeling. Living here will be good for him. Jon’s made two acquaintances in his first class period alone! That’s two more than he had back in Bournemouth. Positive thinking has never been his forte, but perhaps that can be another change that he brings with him in this new life._ _ _ _ _ _

______Jon passes the rest of the class intermittently talking with Tim and Sasha and scrolling through some nonsense news on his phone. Apparently there’s an infestation of worms at some house three blocks from the school. Whatever. All that stuff sounds like a load of nonsense to him anyways. ‘Experts’ are calling it supernatural. He calls it worms._ _ _ _ _ _

______By the time the bell rings, Jon’s content to leave the room, making sure to stay away from the door he’d been warned of. Next up on his schedule is Advanced Mathematics with a Mr. Lukas. Tim and Sasha have Lukas as well, but Sasha’s period is later on in the day, so it’s only Tim accompanying him at the moment._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Don’t worry, Jon. Lukas loves me!” Tim boasts. Jon can even see his chest puff out, as ridiculous as it may seem._ _ _ _ _ _

______“You’re certain of that?” Not to be rude, but Jon got the impression that not many teachers were big fans of Tim Stoker. Besides, Jon’s experience with math teachers in the past has led him to believe that most of them are sticklers for the rules. Tim doesn’t seem the type to abide by rules unless he feels generous that day._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Ouch! Gotta say, I woulda expected a bit more refinement from a posh fellow like yourself.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Jon does not consider himself posh. His clothing choices say otherwise. He tends to go for dress pants and professional looking button ups or sweaters where his classmates strive for a more casual look. Jon’s suddenly self conscious about his Oxfords._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Refinery is found in the most unlikely of places, Tim. So is humor.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Tim bursts out laughing. “Y’know what, Jon! I have a feeling we’re gonna get along just fine.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______No one’s ever expressed that sentiment to Jon. He’s had one serious friendship in his entire life, and she’d ended up moving away one day without a word. Most of his limited conversations were with his grandmother or teachers (on rare occasions)._ _ _ _ _ _

______It’ll be nice to have a friend, he thinks. For the first time in a while, Jon genuinely smiles. Only for a moment, but a smile nonetheless._ _ _ _ _ _


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The other boy lifts his head and locks eyes with Jon. Having been caught staring, he spins his head in the opposite direction with such speed his neck cracks. He completely misses the blush that spreads across Martin’s cheeks and the soft smile that accompanies it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm back! chapters for this will probably be few and far between, considering that my school year's starting up, but rest assured i'm working on it :) and hey, now i have more 'material' to add to this!
> 
> not proofread, we die like real men (no it's totally not because i'm too tired to read this back, why do you ask?)
> 
> hope y'all enjoy chapter 2!

Mr. Lukas’s math classroom is incredibly bland, especially in comparison to the eye strain that is Helen’s room. There are a mere two posters on the beige walls. One has a list of class rules (No Gum. No Headgear. No Food Or Drinks). The other is the bell schedule. It’s of no use to anyone- the clock on the wall doesn’t work and Lukas has never attempted to replace it. 

There’s a seating chart projected onto the whiteboard. It’s not organized alphabetically, nor does it appear to separate students based on grade level. There’s a method to the madness, surely, but Jon’s unable to find it. 

His seat is in the front row, three desks away from Mr. Lukas’s desk. To his left is Banks, Oliver. To his right is King, Melanie. Tim takes a seat directly in front of Lukas with a grin.

“Mr. Stoker.” Lukas grumbles. “Such a pleasure to have you back in my class. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’ve taken the liberty of creating a seating chart. You’re supposed to be next to Mr. Staker.”

The aforementioned Mr. Staker, who Tim had signaled to Jon as Not Sasha’s boyfriend, Tom, waves. The desk next to him, the one that has been designated as Tim’s, is in the corner of the room closest to the door. As far from Lukas as humanly possible.

“Peter!” Tim whines, cocking his head to the side. “I thought we were friends! Why do you want me all the way over there?”

“This is why, Mr. Stoker. And please, don’t call me Peter. This is a classroom, I am your teacher, I deserve a level of respect. Do you understand that?”

“I dunno… seems a bit confusing.” Tim grins. He adjusts the collar of his shirt, leaving it just slightly off-center. Peter winces. “You said it yourself, I’m your favorite student! I should be right here, up close and personal.”

“I said that you’re my least favorite student, Timothy. Now if you’d please get to your seat, I have a course to instruct.” Lukas audibly sighs as Tim walks away from him. The teen takes his seat next to Tom begrudgingly, making sure to catch Jon’s eye and mouth ‘Save me’.

Lukas stands up, brushing off his pant legs as though there would have been anything on them. He’s tall, menacing in a way that you wouldn’t expect an elderly math teacher to be, and bulky. Jon would have expected that he was a carpenter, or at least some other profession where one works with their hands and would thus gain muscle. The scarf tied around Peter’s neck is stained with salt water. Jon can practically smell the sea when the teacher walks past him.

“Welcome to Advanced Mathematics. As you may have been able to ascertain by now, I’m your instructor, Mr. Lukas.” The projector crackles with static as Lukas flicks the screen onto a syllabus. His syllabus is just as unreadable as Helen’s, but for different reasons. The font is so incredibly small that even from the front row Jon’s having trouble deciphering. “All of you are either seniors or juniors. While I don’t particularly care which of those two classifications you are, I’d like to say to all the juniors that you should pay specific attention to chapters twenty seven and thirty two, as that information is likely to show up on your standardized testing.”

The hissing of the various electronics in the room hasn’t stopped. Jon resists the urge to cover his ears as Lukas continues.

“Your first exam is this Thursday, which I’m sure you all will pass. This is an advanced course, after all. Wouldn’t want anyone to be in here that couldn’t pass such a simple test as that one. In fact, up until this past year, Principal Bouchard allowed me to remove students from my course if they didn’t pass.” Lukas rolls his eyes. His fingers fiddle with a ring, and he stares off into the distance. “That’s fine. You won’t be removed from the course, but if you fail our Thursday exam, I will expect that you transfer out.”

Jon doesn’t dare turn his head to look around the room, but he examines the reactions of his classmates from his peripheral. Banks, Oliver looks perfectly at ease with the news. Perhaps a previous student of Lukas’s, or maybe there’s an older sibling who informed him of the teacher’s behavior. King, Melanie. She too appears to be nonchalant, although Jon notices a smattering of thinly veiled rage in her eyes.

The only other person Jon can see, out of the corner of his eye, is the boy sitting in the seat directly to the side of Lukas’s desk. Jon hadn’t seen him come in, to be honest, and he had a reputation to uphold for noticing things. 

He’s on the chubby side, with a head full of dark auburn curls disrupted only by a single strand of grey. The boy’s jumper looks cozy. Far cozier than Jon’s button up-sweater combo is. Jon shakes his head, trying his damndest to stop staring. But the boy’s so beautiful that he can’t tear his eyes away. 

“This is my assistant, Martin.” Martin gets up, presumably to say hello to the class. Peter shushes him and gestures for the boy to return to his seat. “He’s here mostly to grade your tests and the like. I’d suggest you leave him be unless you have a question that cannot wait for my attention.” 

Martin frowns. He sits back down and glares despondently at his desk. Jon continues his observations. The boy’s face is covered in freckles, and Jon can see that they’re dotted along his hands and neck as well. His sweater’s a warm orange-brown that reminds Jon of the fluffy cows he’d seen on a visit to Scotland years ago. Martin wears glasses with the chain on the ends. The kind that Jon’s grandmother considers to be for old women or librarians. Jon doesn’t think they make Martin look old. They fit into his whole aesthetic perfectly. 

The other boy lifts his head and locks eyes with Jon. Having been caught staring, he spins his head in the opposite direction with such speed his neck cracks. He completely misses the blush that spreads across Martin’s cheeks and the soft smile that accompanies it.

“On page thirty of your text, you should find a set of fifteen practice questions meant to observe your capabilities. Please have those completed in the next ten minutes.”

“Uh- Mr Lukas!” A student calls. “Isn’t today just s’posed to be for going over the syllabus and all that?”

“Where did you hear that from, Mr Hawthorne? Elias?” Peter snorts before catching his mistake. “I mean, Principal Bouchard. This isn’t his classroom, and thus he has no jurisdiction over me.”

“But he’s the principal?” Oliver Banks questions. “Isn’t he in charge of your job?”

“Just for that, you all only get eight minutes now. Good luck.” 

Lukas doesn’t seem like the type to budge, so Jon gets to work. The answers come fairly easily to him. He’s never been one for mathematics, but his grades have always been decent enough. Jon feels that he’s on track to finish the questions with just enough time to spare. He’d hate to give Mr Lukas a bad impression of his academic performance, even if he doesn’t care for the man.

There’s a flaw in this concept that Jon hadn’t factored in: Martin. He’s tugging at one of his curls absentmindedly as he grades the answer sheets from Lukas’s first period class. Jon’s mouth hangs slightly agape, eyes latched onto the smooth, tanned skin of Martin’s hands.

“Times up. Please turn in your papers to Martin, and for god’s sake, Mr Stoker, don’t annoy me while you do so.” Tim’s grin fades away in an instant. Jon hasn’t known him for that long, but it’s clear that Tim is hurt by the comment. If he were a more touchy-feely person, he might have patted Tim on the back, told him everything would be okay. Instead, Jon just turns in his half finished worksheet and gives his new friend a sympathetic look. 

His hands brush against Martin’s when he hands the assistant his paper. It’s like lightning. Not really. There’s no physical feeling, but heaven’s above, Jon feels as though the world has just spun on its axis. The classroom lights up.

Not because of his contact with Martin. Lukas has just decided to finally turn on more than one overhead light, slightly illuminating the previously dark and gloomy classroom. Jon yanks his hand back, embarrassed that he’s spent so long fawning over Martin. Also, a bit upset at himself for being so distracted by a boy that he couldn’t finish a simple assignment. That’s never happened to him before, even back in the days when he’d newly discovered his sexuality and was pining for any and every person he saw on the street. 

-

Martin Blackwood hadn’t wanted to become Peter Lukas’s assistant. To be completely honest, he’d been relieved when his junior year was finished and he knew he’d never have to step foot in the man’s classroom ever again. Tragically, that ultimatum didn’t last long. Peter had told Martin that he couldn’t think of anyone who would do a better job, and that Martin being his TA would mean the world to him. Really, he just didn’t feel comfortable with many of his students and he desperately needed to fill the position of assistant before the school year began. 

Martin accepted the offer anyways. He would’ve had a free period, and as amazing as that would’ve been, he can’t drive and thus would’ve had to go to and from school via his neighbor Ian at the normal times. Besides, Peter’s promised that if he ever asks Martin to go on a tea run, he’d pay for Martin’s tea too. Martin’s not sure if he believes that.

Regardless, he’s stuck now. It’s the first day of the new year, and here he is. Seated at a cramped desk in the corner of a dark classroom, counting the seconds until he can leave.

He recognizes some of Peter’s students. Melanie and Tim, namely. They’re two of his friends, and while he’s undoubtedly closer to Tim, it’s a comfort for the both of them to be there nonetheless. Melanie’s dyed her hair blue at the ends over the summer, a look that Martin thinks is very fitting for her. He waves at her. She returns the favor before going back to typing away on her phone. Probably texting her girlfriend, Georgie. Martin likes Georgie. Her jokes are god awful but he can’t seem to stop enjoying them. 

Tim’s accompanied by a boy that Martin’s never seen before. The stranger is short and thin, with dark hair that’s too short to be pulled back with a hair tie but long enough to where it’s falling in his face. His glasses are clearly smudged. The bags under his eyes would lead Martin to believe that he hasn’t slept in a week. Martin’s intrigued and attracted. He wants to simultaneously kiss the stranger gently and tell him to take a much needed nap.

The boy takes a seat between Melanie and Oliver, and Martin tries his best to act nonchalant and not attract the attention of Peter as he leans forward to view the seating chart. Sims, Jonathan. 

Martin studies the boy, this Jonathan. He’s new to the school, most certainly, because Martin’s never seen him before. JMHS isn’t nearly large enough for someone to go unnoticed. He’s in Advanced Mathematics, so he’s assuredly smart, even if that wisdom only extends to books. This particular class period is designated for juniors and seniors. Tragically, Peter’s seating arrangements are pathetic, and thus Martin has no way of determining which of those two grades Jonathan is in. Hopefully he’s a senior. That’d increase his chances of having a class with this mysterious stranger. 

He leans back in his uncomfortable desk chair as Peter begins his traditional ‘Welcome to Class’ lecture. Martin has spent many afternoons mimicking the man’s upbeat tone when detailing how dearly he wishes he could kick students out of his class for not understanding the curriculum. 

“This is my assistant, Martin.” Oh, here we go! Finally, some excitement. Martin begins to stand, only for Peter to- shush him? God, the nerve of that man. Martin sits back down, gazing unblinking at his desk. “He’s here mostly to grade your tests and the like. I’d suggest you leave him be unless you have a question that cannot wait for my attention.” 

Lukas is a dick, that's for sure, but he's a dick that's technically in charge of Martin's future so he doesn't mention it. Peter had offered Martin, in addition to tea and all the other nonsense, a top of the line letter of recommendation for Martin to send off to the colleges of his choosing. Martin's not exactly rich. Any brownie points he can get with a college that could lead to him maybe getting a sizable scholarship are worth the pain of being one of Peter Lukas's henchmen for a year. 

Martin tears his eyes away from the dull beige of his desk and towards the class full of students. Namely, Jonathan. Jonathan, who's staring right at him. Jonathan jerks his head away so quickly that Martin swears he can see the other boy wince. He blushes. Of course there's no way of knowing with what intent Jonathan was looking at him with, but Martin's a hopeless romantic in the end. He could imagine a world in which this new student, this Jonathan Sims, caught sight of him and was instantly in love. In this were a different world, alternate Martin would wink at him, or do something else that only a suave person could pull off. In the real world, Martin fiddles with the cuffs of his sweater and prays that he isn't making Jonathan uncomfortable somehow. 

Peter wraps up his somewhat angry rambling by telling the students to begin their assignment. Oliver Banks, notorious for his dry wit and hatred for Mr. Lucas, makes some half innocent comment on the nature of the class and Peter cuts their time. Good luck to them. Martin always hated Peter's little tests. Sure, they never counted for anything, but there was still that fear of failure that permeated his whole being. Everyone knows that Peter can't actually make good on his threat to force students out of the class if they don't perform to his standards. That doesn't stop him from loudly announcing everyone's scores, to the point where a person with headphones in on the other side of the room could know if you received an F on the exam or not. 

He absentmindedly messes with his hair, ignoring the voice in his head that sounds eerily similar to his mother, the one that says he should just sit still for once in his godforsaken life. Martin's first anxiety tic, to the best of his knowledge, was playing with his curls. Back then they were longer. He hated that. He also hated that his mother refused to let him cut it for years, until one day he'd had enough and he stormed his way down to Melanie's house with a pair of scissors in his hand and begged the girl to give him the haircut he desired. Martin wasn't incredibly close with Melanie at the time, but she'd always been the one in his friend group that knew her way around hair. She dyes her own frequently, and brags about the fact that she hasn't visited a hairdresser in five years since she learned how to cut her hair neatly enough to manage. 

Jonathan's looking at him again. Martin can feel it, that warmth permeating the skin and bones of his hands. He's got a lot of freckles there. Other than his curls, Martin considers his multitude of freckles to be his most attractive feature. He hopes that Jonathan's suitably impressed by them. Considering the way that he's been distracted from his assignment, Martin assumes he is. 

Martin tunes back into the rest of the world as Peter announces to his bewildered students that their time is up and they must turn in their papers to him. Time to look alive, Blackwood. It's your first day on the 'job', you don't want to somehow screw it up already. 

His desk is neatly organized. Peter wouldn't accept any less. There's a section for Martin's personal belongings, which currently consists of his silenced cell phone and a warm cup of jasmine green tea in a mug with "I Can And I Will" inscribed upon it. The lettering, baby blue in color, is surrounded by gold stars. It's cheesy, but it's Martin's favorite mug, hence why he brought it to keep in Lukas's classroom instead of a to go cup. Next to the mug's resting place is a wire tray wherein Martin has been instructed to place any papers that are given to him. He'd suggested to Peter that maybe they could have different piles for different assignments, to make them easier to sort and grade. Peter hadn't taken his suggestion.

Martin begins grabbing people's papers from them, placing them neatly in the tray. He knows how his classmates are. He doesn't trust them to put them in a proper stack. Half of the papers would probably fall to the ground or get crumpled up if he left them to their own devices. 

Tim's expression when he turns in his assignment is concerning. Martin gives him a questioning glance, unable to do much more for his friend. Peter will most certainly get on him about distractions or something like that if he tries to strike up a conversation. 

Various people hand over their assignments, with most of them getting at least somewhat close to finishing. Martin smiles at them all. He knows firsthand how being in Peter's classroom can make you feel. Like you're the only one, like maybe you were wrong about the state of the world and maybe happiness has never actually existed. That's another reason Martin agreed to help Lukas. He wanted to help his poor, innocent peers who're being forced into a year of staring at Peter Lukas for an hour a day as he explains mathematics. 

Jonathan is one of the last students to make his way towards the front of the classroom and give Martin his assignment. Their hands brush for only a moment, and every cliche romance novel Martin's ever read comes flowing back to him. He'd never thought that he'd feel like this. Butterflies threaten to claw their way out of his stomach. His hands shake as the thrum of imagined electricity courses through them. Lukas, of course, chooses this moment to finally turn on the rarely used overhead lights. (It may sound ridiculous, but for a second Martin was concerned that his romantic delusions were becoming so strong that the world was magically getting brighter). Jonathan yanks his hand away, eyes widening. 

Now Martin's by no means the most popular student at Jonah Magnus High, but usually if someone brushes up against him they don't go running. Damnit. He'd thought that Jonathan and him were developing a connection, as cheesy as that sounds. Still, he hadn't expected for the other boy to take off as though he'd been shocked. Especially since Jonathan's staring at him again, with those inquisitive eyes that Martin feels in his soul. 

He glances down at Jonathan's paper. It's barely half finished. All of the work is correct, but it appears to have been done hastily. Martin had seen Jonathan scribbling away at a rapid fire speed for the first few minutes before getting distracted, which would fit in with the narrative that this paper tells. Jonathan had appeared to be distracted by Martin. Of all the people in the world- hell, even in this classroom- this boy who was clearly competent and level headed got distracted by him! Martin Blackwood, enough to tempt an academic from his studies. If only all of his detractors could see him now. 

To be completely frank, Martin doesn’t pay a lick of attention to what the rest of the classroom does as he grades the assignments. Peter had given him an answer sheet before class even started, wanting for his assistant to get straight to work. That’s fine by Martin. He’s okay with the monotonous work. It gives him a chance to get out of his head for a bit, stop overthinking everything and just be in the moment. Sure, it never really works out that way, but it’s the thought that counts. 

He finishes grading with not a moment to spare. The bell’s ringing as he adds a smiley face next to Tim’s 100%. Granted, the bell in Lukas’s room is broken, but if you pay close enough attention then you can still hear it chime from the room next door. 

“Alright everyone. No homework tonight, I’m feeling generous. But it won’t be happening again, trust me.” Peter drawls. It’s the same nonsense he spouts to his students every year. “You can leave now.”

Martin has barely touched his tea. He doesn’t want it to go to waste, and he knows Peter won’t take it. The man only drinks tea after it’s gone cold. No, not iced tea. Martin could stomach that. But Peter Lukas will make himself a cup of tea, leave it sitting abandoned on his desk for an hour, and then drink it as though nothing’s wrong. 

“Erm- Peter?” He asks. Nearly all of the students have already left the classroom. Passing periods aren’t nearly long enough for them to stick around. “D’you have any to-go cups I could put my tea into?”

Lukas turns to his assistant, long peacoat twirling in an oddly childlike gesture. He runs a hand through his salt and pepper hair until it’s sticking up at all ends. Peter throws his arms out wide with a grin.

“Martin. Why would I have a cup for you? I’d reckon it’s your job to have supplies, not mine.”

“I- I know, I was just-”

“It doesn’t matter. Okay? You did good today, Martin. Keep it up for the year and you might just become my favorite.”

“You said I was your favorite already though.”

“Did I? Right. Of course. Um. Get to your next class! I won’t be giving you a late pass, and Mrs. Montague eviscerate you.” 

Martin rolls his eyes. “You know, Peter, your threats would probably work better if you paid any attention whatsoever to the world outside of your own life. I’ve got Orsinov next period, not Montague.”

“Orsinov.” Peter grimaces. “I detest that woman.”

“I know. You haven’t exactly kept that a secret.” The year before, Peter had torn down the posters for the school’s production of The Addams Family in an attempt to destroy Nikola Orsinov’s reign of equal parts terror and glee over JMHS. She was unphased by it, and a record amount of tickets were sold after she positioned a headless mannequin in front of Peter’s classroom with the show dates and information scrawled across its chest. 

Peter sighs. His frown has turned into an expression of pure defeat. “Just leave, Martin.”

“Will do! See you tomorrow, Peter.” Martin grabs his mug, as there’s no other method of transporting his tea currently available to him, and swings his satchel over his shoulder. As he walks out the door, he can hear Peter calling after him, begging for Martin to just call him Mr Lukas for heaven's sake. He ignores it. 

Martin rounds the corner quicker than he probably should with an uncovered cup of warm tea. Scratch that, definitely too quick, because he runs right into someone.

The mug stays in Martin’s hands, which is a relief, but all of its contents splash up and onto the person he’s run into. Before he can even register who it is, Martin begins anxiously muttering apologies and patting down the other person's sweater covered torso.

“Um. You really don’t have to- it’s fine, it’s old anyways- I’m okay!” Martin lifts his head to look the boy in the eyes.

“Jonathan?”

“I- yes. I mean, I go by Jon, but yes, I’m Sims.” Jon pauses. “Shit, that’s not right. I’m Jonathan. Well, I’m Jonathan, but my friends call me Jon. I don’t have any friends. Oh, for fucks sake-”

“Don’t worry,” Martin laughs nervously, “I get what you’re saying. Nice to meet you then, Jon, although different circumstances would’ve been preferable. I don’t usually like spilling tea on people I’ve never met before.”

“So you’re saying that you spill tea on your friends?”

Martin blinks, eyebrows furrowing. “No. Why would I do that? Not everything’s that literal, Jon.”

“My apologies,” Jon sneers, “I’ll try my best to not question your speaking patterns the next time you spill your drink all over me.” 

He pulls off his sweater, huffing when he realizes that even his button up has been soaked through with tea. _How was your first day of school? _Oh, you know. Had a cute boy accidentally dump his tea on me. Instinctively was a dick to him. The usual stuff.__

__“D’you want to borrow a shirt?” Martin asks. When he sees the puzzled look on Jon’s face, he stammers his way through an explanation. “I mean, that’s maybe a bit weird for me to ask, but I’ve got an extra sweater in my locker. It’d be big on you, but anything’s probably better than a tea shirt, in my opinion. You could change in the restrooms and still have time to get to class.”_ _

__“That’d… well, that’d be nice, actually.” Jon admits. “I, uh, I’ve got gym next period, so I’ll have a spot to change.”_ _

__Without a word, Martin starts leading Jon towards his locker. The two of them walk in an uncomfortable silence, heightened by the romantic tension that’s thick in the air surrounding them. By the time they reach the row of lockers, Jon’s so anxious he could burst._ _

__Martin hands over a cable knit maroon sweater, which Jon accepts with a thin smile._ _

__“Thank you, Martin. I appreciate it, really.” He folds it over his arm carefully, like it’s made of glass and one wrong move could break it. “I- I’ll see you around.”_ _

__For a moment, Martin’s heart soars. Jon wants to see him again! The reality crashes back down around him. He needs to give the sweater back at some point. Not to mention that Martin’s the TA for his class. Of course they’ll see each other again._ _

__Jon waves goodbye to Martin, who returns the favor as they begin walking to their respective classes. Unfortunately for the two of them and the uncomfortable scenario they’ve found themselves embroiled in, the theatre classroom and the locker room are nearly side by side. Martin and Jon walk next to each other, continuing the streak of silence even as they’re shoved into each other by passing students._ _

__When the two finally part, Jon exhales in relief. Gym has never been a class he’s enjoyed, particularly because of the whole ‘having to change out of his binder’ thing, but he’d suffer through hours of it if that meant he wouldn’t have to have such an awkward encounter ever again. The school bell rings once, then twice, as he makes his way towards the crowd of his classmates._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i promised someone that i wouldn't make martin too sad as peter's assistant and i'm sticking to that! hopefully she's reading this and i'm not writing these notes for nothing. if you're reading this, then hi! how's it going :)
> 
> i had no clue how to end this so hopefully it didn't suck too much lol


End file.
